An Amiable CharlatanOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
An Amiable Charlatan
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Detective and mystery stories
"Raids in this part of London only take place by arrangement," she assured
me. "This place will reach its due date sometime, but every one will know
all about it beforehand. They are making a clear profit here of about four
hundred pounds a night and it has been running for two months now. When
the raid comes Mr. Rubenstein--I think that is his name--can pay his five-
hundred-pound fine and move on somewhere else. It's wicked--the money they
make here some nights!"
"You seem to know a good deal about it," I remarked.
"The place interests father," she told me. "He comes here often."
"And you?"
"Sometimes. I am not always in the humor."
I looked at her long and thoughtfully. Her beauty was entirely the beauty
of a young girl. There were no signs of late hours or anxiety in her face.
She puzzled me more than ever.
"I wish I knew," I said, "exactly what you mean when you call yourself an
adventuress."
She laughed.
"It means this," she explained: "To-night I have money in my purse, jewels
on my fingers, a motor car to ride home in. In a week's time, if things
went badly with us, I might have nothing. Then father or I, or both of us,
would go out into the world to replenish, and from whomever had most of
what we desired we should take as opportunity presented itself."
"Irrespective of the law?"
"Absolutely!"
"Irrespective of your sense of right and wrong?"
"My sense of right and wrong, according to your standards, does not
exist."
I gave it up. She seemed thoroughly in earnest, and yet every word she
spoke seemed contrary to my instinctive judgment of her. She pointed to
the table.
"Look!" she whispered. "These people don't seem as though they had all
that money to gamble with, do they? Look! There must be at least a
thousand or fifteen hundred pounds upon the table."
It was just as she said these words that the thing happened. From
somewhere among the little crowd of people gathered round the table there
came the sound of heavy stamping on the floor, and in less than a moment
every light in the room went out. The place was in somber darkness. Then,
breaking the momentary silence, there came from outside a shrill whistle.
Again there was a silence--and then pandemonium! In a dozen different keys
one heard the same shout:
"The police!"
Eve gripped my arm. My matchbox was out in a moment and I struck a match,
holding it high over my head. As it burned a queer little halo of light
seemed thrown over the table. The door was wide open and blocked with
people rushing out. The banker was still sitting in his place. At first I
seemed to have the idea that Mr. Parker was by his side. Then, to my
astonishment, I saw him at the opposite end of the table, standing as
though he had appeared from nowhere. A stentorian voice was heard from
outside:
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you please! Nothing has happened. The lights
will be on again immediately."
Almost as he spoke the place was flooded with light.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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